Because I Am a Wife
by HC0
Summary: Inspired by the song of the same name, this is an expansion on Grania's marriage to Donal, and some subsequent events. From the Boublil and Schönberg musical "The Pirate Queen."
1. Chapter 1

**As very few people seem to have heard of this fandom, I shall explain in brief: **_**The Pirate Queen**_** is a musical based loosely on the life of the Irish pirate woman Gráinne Ní Mhaille, better known as Grace O'Malley and also called Grania, Grania Mhaol, Granuaile, and many other names. Go to Wiki for more information on both musical and woman.**

**This is dedicated to Tiggy the Hopeless Romantic, who first compared one of my Fiyeros to Tiernan and got me started on this obsession. Written in honor of the release of Stephanie J. Block's CD, which includes the title song of this story.**

**Into this story I will also be incorporating information both from the Morgan Llewellyn novel and from history, so my hold ever lessens, though I freely screw with both history and fiction.**

**Disclaimer: **_**The Pirate Queen **_**is as much mine as it was appreciated by the critics. **

* * *

**Part I**

There had been an element of heroism in her choice, Grania had thought. Leaving the man she loved, leaving the sea, leaving everything she held dear, for the sake of peace and unity in her beloved land. She had told herself this for weeks, and it had been her lifeline through the seemingly endless stream of wedding preparations and well-wishing. She had almost come to peace with her decision.

So she suffered the wedding, and almost enjoyed it—there was always the chance that this marriage would work out, she told herself, and danced with the others. She was even able to separate from her new husband, and it was only when she found herself face-to-face with Tiernan, and Dubhdara moved between them, that the heroism began to be replaced with a terrible pit in her stomach.

Tiernan moved elsewhere and her father smiled at her. "May I dance with my daughter?" he asked her.

She made herself smile back. "Of course."

But dancing and feasting can last only for so long, and soon enough the party ended and she was sent off to Rockfleet as the wife of Donal O'Flaherty. He was drunk, she noticed in disgust, and not in a light way. Not surprising, as every time she had happened to see him during the wedding he had been imbibing. She wondered if it was even worth it to try to make conversation with him. But he took the initiative, surprisingly.

"Isn't that one of your ships over there?" he asked her in a somewhat slurred voice.

She looked in the direction of his pointing finger and yes, that was her favorite galley sitting still in the water. "She is."

"Well, you had better get used to calling your ships your father's now, because your life as a sea captain is over!" he laughed. "I'll lose no gold over you."

She ignored the painful mention of her ships and asked, instead, "What do you mean, 'lose no gold'?"

Donal smiled. "That's no woman's business, but I've a reputation to keep."

"So I've heard."

He went silent then, and nothing more was said until great dark Rockfleet loomed in front of them like a sudden storm cloud. Donal made no pretense of being welcoming. He went straight to the bedroom, dumped her on the bed like she would throw out a barrel of slops, and began taking off his clothes. He raised his eyebrows at the horror that had come over her face. "What, nobody told you about this part?" He grinned, mocking.

"Of course I know," she snapped. And she did: the entire point of this whole awful marriage was to produce an heir that would unite their two clans. Still, she had pushed that matter to the back of her mind, refusing to think about it. Until now. "But does it have to be right now?" It could wait a day, a year.

"Why?" Donal smirked. "We have a duty, don't we?"

"I assume that I am correct in assuming that the only duty you feel toward me is sex, no different from the other thousand women you've had."

"Oh, I don't know about a thousand," he said. "Besides, how about all the men _you _must have had?"

"Pardon me?" She drew herself up. She stood taller than he, they both noticed. "I'll have you know that I am not, in fact, one of your whores—"

"You're a woman living a man's life." He shrugged. "A woman in trousers, leading a crew of probably screw-starved men? What else can you expect?"

"A sense of honor, Donal." God, this man disgusted her. "You may not have ever learned the concept, but I bear it well."

"Then you'll keep the vow you made hours ago," he reminded her. "So we'll easily enough settle the question of your virginity." His hands went to the fastenings of her dress, but she pushed them away.

"I can undress myself," she told him, and to her surprise he stood back and let her struggle with the troublesome garment herself.

Grania tried to work slowly, but after a minute Donal came forward. "Will you hurry up or will I do that for you?"

She turned slowly and tilted her head. "Would you rape me?" She certainly believed it of him, and he seemed to seriously consider the answer.

"No," he said at last. "But again, your precious honor…"

She swore but picked up the pace, and within a few seconds the dress was off. Hours of work and more money than Grania wanted to think about had gone into it, but Donal casually kicked it out of the way as. He scanned her with his eyes, and for the first time in her life Grania felt uncomfortable in front of a man. "So you _are _female," he observed. "That's that with _those_ rumors."

"You doubted it? I thought it was my virginity you worried about."

"Oh, I never doubted, and I don't worry, dear. I simply wonder if that Tiernan is your mate in more ways than one—"

Slaps had never been Grania's cup of English tea; she packed a hard punch and Donal found himself on the floor with a very sore jaw and his new wife glowering over him. He sprang up to retaliate, but Grania caught his hands and held him back. "You would attack your wife before you're four hours married, Donal O'Flaherty? Why, I daresay you would appear frightened."

"Frightened of a woman?" He snorted and tried to push her away. Her muscles strained to hold him, but she would not budge; she fought better than many men he'd known. "In that you think me wrong; you think right, though, in that you are a wife, Grania _O'Flaherty—_"

"O'Malley!"

"and you will obey me—"

"You will lose that delusion. I come into this marriage as an equal to you—"

"A marriage that you should honor!"

"Ad what do you know of that?" she spat. She gave a final push and once again he was on the floor. "You don't give a damn about clan unity; all you want is to be able to say that you fucked Grania O'Malley."

"Which I still intend to do." He got up and inspected her body again: female indeed, and not a bad one, not at all.

So he took it.

Grania shuddered as Donal's hands moved over her. "You're shaking," he observed. "Scared?"

"Should I be?" And all the while he was touching her, with his hands, his mouth, all of him. "I see no reason."

He didn't answer; just kept rubbing against her, and making no attempt to hide his pleasure. Grania closed her eyes and tried not to think about what was happening. _Oh God,_ _what did I get myself into? Oh _God_…. _Her fists clenched as Donal landed heavily on top of her.

Tiernan's kisses had always been gentle; Grania was sure that his lovemaking would have been the same way. Donal was not gentle with her. She was just a body for the using and he didn't care if he was hurting her and they both knew it. After what seemed an interminable time he rolled off of her, pulled the blanket over himself, and went to sleep without a word.

Grania lay awake, though, for a long time, wondering if this was what it felt like to be a whore, and wondering whether she would be able to take living with Donal for any long period of time. Was this what she had to live with if she were to be his wife? Even glancing at him made her shudder.

She fancied she could see the sun rising when she finally drifted to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**I finally got Stephanie's album, which is positively orgasmic. Thanks to track 10, I shall surely have an easier time writing this story.**

**Disclaimer: **_**The Pirate Queen **_**is as much mine as it was appreciated by the critics.**

* * *

It was still dawn when she rose the next day. There was no moment of disorientation; she remembered everything clearly and painfully and was unsurprised to see Donal still asleep beside her. He didn't snore; that much she could be thankful for about her new husband.

Grania dressed for comfort and to irritate Donal, in the men's clothing usually reserved for being worn aboard ship. Well, as things were looking she would never step foot on a ship again, so she might as well put her trousers to some use.

The sea was on the air and Grania breathed it in frantically as she stepped outside, trying to replace the smell that she identified as Donal. A mist was hanging over the water, and Grania watched the sun light it as she went down to the shore. Taking off her boots, she waded to a large rock and sat herself on it, letting the waves lap against her feet. This had always been _her_ time, to sit and think. Or, in the old days when she could sail, she had climbed a rope and let herself rest in midair, like a hovering bird.

A seagull fluttered down next to her.

"Fly away," she told it without taking her eyes from the horizon. "You're free to move as you want; go, before you're enslaved too."

It poked its beak under its wing, preening or feeding, and Grania let it sit there. The sun climbed hand-over-hand over the mist, and then burst into its full glory and another day. Beautiful, if it were only just her and this rock.

"Grania!"

She jumped, and the gull flew away. A splashing led her senses in the right direction and she turned around to see Tiernan making his way to her.

"Grania!" He scrambled up beside her. "What are you doing out here so early?"

"I could ask _you_ the same question."

"I couldn't sleep last night," he explained. "So I was at my window, jus looking aimlessly, and then I saw you. Are you all right?"

She ignored his question. "What are you doing in O'Flaherty lands?"

He looked away. "I came to be with you."

She almost fell into the water. "You _what?_"

"I—"

"Tiernan, we're over, can't you get that through your thick head? I agreed to marry Donal O'Flaherty and I will stick to that agreement no matter how much I hate it. You cannot stay here; you're a danger to my reputation at the very least. He already thought we shared a bed on board ship; he got his proof that we didn't last night, but from now on there won't be anything to say otherwise if you keep hanging around me."

Tiernan had cringed almost as soon as she started yelling. He had been wrong, perhaps, and he recognized that: he _could _ understand how people might have thought that Grania was Mrs. Mate to her first mate (or something)—he wasn't happy with the reference to her sleeping with Donal, though—but he would _never _ have done anything like that. Grania was still going on.

"And furthermore, Tiernan, I am not a child; I can take care of myself. You—"

"Were wrong," he admitted. "And I'll leave, if that is what you desire. But I will not go all the way back to Clew Bay. I won't stay at Rockfleet, but I will move down to someplace between the two. There's a nice little bit of beach that no one's using; I can build myself something there."

She nodded. "You go do that." Suddenly she turned to him, her face completely wiped of all anger. "Oh, Tiernan, if I could only go back!"

"He's not to your satisfaction?"

"I'm there to satisfy. I'm just a body. He's good-looking, yes, but that's all; I think whiskey runs in his blood." She sighed. "He had a reputation as a womanizer, but it seems that he simply hates women—when they're not in his bed."

Tiernan was horrified. "Oh, Grania," he started to say, but there was a simultaneous, identical call that drowned him out.

"_GRANIA!"_

They both looked up: Donal was standing in the castle doorway, bellowing at the top of his lungs. "GRANIA!"

"Over here, and be civil!" she called back. "What is it now?"

"Grania! Get in here, woman, and serve my breakfast."

She looked back at Tiernan. "You see? And now I'm his serving girl too, apparently." She jumped upright in one move; Tiernan had to admire how adroit she was—he could never have moved like that on a slippery rock.

"I would come back," she called, "if there were a good reason."

"There is!" That was his wife out there, standing with bare feet on a rock in the water, legs in trousers spread for balance. And that was wrong. "You're a woman, not a man, and I demand that you act like one! Get in here and do your duty! Which does _not_ include being in the water at dawn with your boyfriend."

Grania looked at Tiernan again. "Well, you've done it now," she told him. "That man's loud enough." She pushed him off the rock. "_Go_, now, and for the love of all that's holy don't touch me."

He complied, sadly, and went down the beach back to wherever he was staying. He turned to her one last time and raised his hand. "Good luck," he said, and she nodded back before going to Donal.

He met her with a slap. "Do you know what you've done to my reputation, you whore?"

She hadn't flinched from his hand. "You're one to talk."

"The very day after our wedding you're flirting with that man?"

"I wasn't flirting," she said. "Tiernan came to find me. We spoke. We didn't even touch. I told him to leave Rockfleet and he said he'd listen."

"Whatever you say. Now get inside."

"Why do you need me to serve your breakfast?" she asked him as they left the air for the dark interior of Rockfleet. "Are you entirely incapable of feeding yourself, or even asking one of the servants to do it?"

"I want you to get accustomed to women's work," he explained. "As you so obviously lack."

"I don't think turning me into your maid is going to teach me anything."

"It should, and put on a dress," he snapped. "Enough of your playing the man already."

"Feeling threatened, Donal?" she replied smoothly as she sat down across the table from him, as far away as possible.

"Not from you."

Grania was already giving up hope of this marriage working out in the slightest. She proceeded to ignore him until he finally relented and had a servant bring breakfast.

"This won't work next time," he warned her. "That's one reason you have yourself a serving woman—not to teach you to sit around and be lax, but to teach you how to behave." He snorted. "Like how to cook. I suppose you can't?"

"I can cook some," she responded. "But I don't know if I'll be doing any cooking for _you,_ Donal, if that's all I'm going to be to you."

"You're my wife."

"And by law accorded my own rights!" she snapped. Infuriating creature! "I am my own person; I may be willing to compromise with you on some matters, but I will not be subdued."

"You've been left un-subdued too long," he retorted. "Your father's let you run wild, and somebody's got to fix that."

"I don't think misogyny will be a good cure, Donal."

"I don't hate women," he said, "when they're in their rightful place."

"Your bed?"

"Domesticity." He smiled. "Although I suppose my bed is a decent enough place too."

She blocked him out after that and didn't look up until he had finished eating and left the room. As he left a woman entered and approached Grania. "I am Majella?" The introduction was posed as a question. "Your husband says I am to be your maid."

Grania looked up. "First thing, calm down," she said, for Majella seemed to be on the edge of fleeing. "Second, sit down—here, next to me—and tell me what you know of me."

Majella pulled up a chair and sat on the edge of it. "Well, I've heard of you, of course: Grania O'Malley, who sails the _Pirate Queen_ and is called the same. You have the British queen herself trembling, from the stories some tell! Is it—is it really true that you once beat back twenty men using only a piece of bone you found?"

"That bit sounds like it has roots in the Bible," Grania said, "and while I may be of a caliber to have crazy tales told of me, I'm not quite Samson yet. Well, here's me as I am right now, Majella: I am not a captain anymore; I have agreed to relinquish my ships. I am the wife of the O'Flaherty tanaist, who I am so far finding to be a bastard and general pain in the ass. My apologies if I use offensive language," she added as Majella's cheeks colored. "I am—was—a sailor after all, and I have the vocabulary. Anyhow, now I'm here at Rockfleet being expected to be the perfect wife. Which I haven't the faintest idea how to do." She stared gloomily at the stove. "And I believe you're supposed to guide me there. For example, I can't really cook."

Majella looked relieved to have been given something to do. "There's nothing to it, really."

"Then I'd like to be let in on the secret." Grania stood up. "If I must be made a wife, Majella, I may as well learn now."

* * *

A great part of the day passed in the kitchen as Grania began to realize that perhaps her talents did not extend into the culinary arts, and as she and Majella became acquainted enough for the latter to summon up the courage to voice it.

"So Donal can have eggshells in his bread," Grania said in satisfaction after a particularly disastrous attempt. "He wants me making his food; he can eat it."

"I don't think much would be accomplished by poisoning him, though," Majella said.

They both laughed.

"In any case perhaps I shall make supper and you can simply watch me. I think that might be a better way."

Donal did not appear by suppertime, though, nor an hour later, and Grania finally decided that he could go without food for a night if he couldn't prepare it himself, and she sat down to eat. Partway through the meal Majella suggested to her that perhaps Donal had suffered some injury, to which Grania replied, "Let him."

* * *

It turned out that Donal was uninjured, although it also was midnight before he came into the bedroom, rumpled and reeking of alcohol. Grania was already in bed and unsurprised to see him in such a state.

"Been partying at the shebeen, have you?" she asked him without turning her head. "No need to answer; I can smell it. And I suppose you've been having your way with the barmaids too?"

"That's none of your business."

"It's no wonder the Joyces call you 'The Cock'. It's all you're—"

Donal threw himself into bed beside her. "Clever word games. Now shut up and stay _still_."

She pushed his hand away from her breast and sat straight up. "I may've given up my ships but I can still aim a gun, Donal O'Flaherty, and if you continue to provoke me I can and I will change you from a cock to a hen with one shot!"

He snorted. "Exactly the foolish thing a woman would say. I'll wager I can break you before you can me, Grania."

"I can still shoot…" she reminded him.

They had sex anyway, and Donal fell asleep, and the first day of their marriage was through.

Grania did not look forward to the next.


	3. Chapter 3

**Still alive, me hearties.**

**Disclaimer: **_**The Pirate Queen **_**is as much mine as it was appreciated by the critics.**

* * *

After three months with little discernible difference in their relationship, Grania was beginning to despair of the marriage. She had sworn to try, but she had never thought that Donal could be so bad. She knew that people had more than one side, but she had yet to see a second of his.

Rockfleet had a high window from which Grania often watched the ships sailing by on their way to other, foreign, exciting lands. Ships that went places other than this horrid, stifling fortress.

Well, not horrible, Grania admitted to herself. It was nice enough, Rockfleet, and incredibly convenient…if she still had her ships. She dug her nails into the stone. She had spent an entire quarter of a year learning how to putter around being a good little housewife. Or slave, perhaps, as she had found herself doing many duties normally required of a servant. Donal had not broken her, as he'd sworn to do, but he'd put her into service and dresses with a relative ease that Grania found almost frightening. She recognized fully that this relationship was wrong—and dangerous—but she would not break her word.

One of the ships out there was closer than most went, almost as if it was turning into the cove. And—she leaned out the window to see—it was an O'Malley ship. And it _was_ coming to Rockfleet. She was out the door in an instant, and Majella was coming to greet her in the entrance half to tell her that her father wanted to see her.

Grania was running aboard the ship almost before it had anchored, and when she finally had her feet planted on the deck her father was there to pull her into a hug. "It's been too long," he said. "Until now I didn't want to push myself into the picture when you and Donal were so shortly married, but I was passing by and it would have been ridiculous not to have stopped to visit my daughter." He stood back and looked at her with pride. "The men that say I've ruined you with the sea should see you now! Married to a future chieftain…and a mother, anytime soon?"

She shook her head. "Not yet, so far as I know."

He didn't seem fazed. "Well, it's only been a few months, and you're both still young. And I'm sure you'll make a fine mother when the time comes."

In truth, were Donal not in the picture Grania would have been quite content with things the way they were. "I don't remember my mother; how should I know what to do?"

He thought he had been a good enough father, but it was at moments like these that Dubhdara realized, painfully, how much he missed his wife. "Follow your heart, is all I can say."

"Speaking of children, what about my ships?" she asked him. "Are they pining away for me yet?"

He grinned. "They're in fine condition, being kept so by the men who do very much miss your presence. A waste, they say, keeping you locked up as a housewife."

She smiled. "You know, I've learned to cook now. Sometimes the results are even edible."

"Is that so? Then a miracle truly has been worked! I remember that time you tried to feed us all. One might have thought that the entire crew had gone seasick."

Grania remembered that time well, if only because of the embarrassment. "And how is everybody? And do you hear anything from Tiernan? And—"

"One question at a time! Tiernan I haven't heard a word from; I see him around the water now and then, but that's it. And what about you and your husband?" he asked her. "Things are well?"

She shrugged and turned to look out across the sea.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"They could be worse."

His brow furrowed. "Grania, tell me the truth: Are you really happy with him?"

She shook her head. "I've never pretended: An angel would hate him."

Dubhdara sighed. "Grania, I know how deeply you felt for Tiernan, and I would wholeheartedly approve of a marriage between the two of you; I have known him for years and he is a good man. It would have been an honor to have him as a son-in-law. But there was a need for this marriage, and might I remind you that you agreed to it."

"I know I did," she said, "and that's why I'm sticking to it. I keep my word."

She reached up to tuck the rogue strands behind her ear, and as she did so her sleeve slipped a bit, revealing the marks from last night's altercations. Quickly, she fixed it, but not fast enough to escape Dubhdara's notice.

He seized her arm. "Grania, what is this?" he asked.

"A bruise," she hedged. It wouldn't be any use lying to him; her father could always see through her.

"A bruise from _what_? As far as I know you aren't doing anything dangerous, and you're not one to bump into things. Not to mention that it's over most of your arm!"

She didn't answer.

"_Grania_."

"We fight…sometimes," she admitted. "Donal and I."

Dubhdara dropped her hand. "He beats you?" he said, horrified.

"Not exactly—it's just that sometimes our fights can go physical. Father, you don't have to worry about me. I can take care of myself; I already do. I defend more fiercely than he attacks."

"Whether you can defend yourself or not is not the issue." Dubhdara stood up straight and turned toward the gangplank. "Which is why I'm going to speak to him right now."

Grania grabbed him by the sleeve. "Father, you can't! It will only make things worse. Besides, he's not even home; he's probably gone to any one of the shebeens dotting this fair area and is so drunk he won't understand a word you say."

Dubhdara gripped the railing, hard. "Has it always been this way?"

"He had a reputation as a drinker long before our marriage," she said. "Perhaps it never reached your ears?"

"Yet you still agreed to marry him?"

"I had to. Ireland; that's the very thing—Ireland _must _be united if it is to survive, and if that means I have to get a child by Donal O'Flaherty then I will do that! And if he turns out to be a drunkard who has ten whores a night before he gets to me then I will do that too; I've given up everything dear to me; should this be any different?"

"Ten whores a night?"

Her big mouth! "A bit of an exaggeration. He likes his women, though."

"Is this another aspect of his personality that everybody but me seems to have heard?"

"Father, I'm _fine."_

"You are _not_ fine! Grania, were you out of your mind? There wouldn't be a soul in Ireland that would blame you if you—"

"I can't!" she said fiercely. "I told you, I'm holding my own in this. And if I break my word I'll be no better than Donal."

"If he breaks your neck you'll be no better. Grania, this isn't right."

"I won't let him get the best of me. Father, if the situation gets too bad then I'll leave, I swear I will."

He sighed. "Yes, but you're strong, and who can say what 'too bad' will mean?"

"Time. Time will tell. And maybe some miracle will happen and things will improve."

Dubhdara shook his head. "I shouldn't have let you do this."

"But what's done is done, Father, and you can't talk me out of it. Now, why don't you worry about this later and I'll go check on my crew?"

He smiled. "I forever worry about you. But yes, the men are waiting to see their captain again."

It was indeed a joyous reunion, full of hugging and back-slapping and a thousand questions and interruptions all at once. But all too soon it was time to part, and watching the ship vanish into the distance, Grania felt like she was taking leave of the sea all over again.

And back to Donal.

"Someone said they saw a ship here," he told her over supper that night.

"My father was here," she said. "He was sailing this way and stopped to see me."

Donal looked unhappy. "Why?"

"Because I'm his daughter, and he missed me. Is that such a crime, family?"

Apparently it was. "What did you talk about?"

"We caught up on everything that's been happening the last few months. He asked me about you."

Donal tensed. "And what did you tell him?"

"I told him that things could be worse," she said, "and he believed me well enough until he happened to see my arm." Donal stood up and looked about to explode, but Grania kept on going, calmly. "You should be glad that you weren't near when I told him about our little physical debates."

"That you start, you lying woman!" But through his anger Grania could see that he was frightened. Frightened for his reputation, frightened of what the O'Malley might do.

So she had some power over him. "I only hold my own, Donal," she said. "I have no desire to fight with you."

"I don't _fight—"_

"You don't fight? So what do you call throwing a chair at me? Aggressive negotiations?"

"I'm keeping you in line!" he shouted. "As I should!"

"I'm in line; it's just that _your_ line is like the grain in a warped plank. You can't expect me to follow that. "

"A proper wife doesn't go whining to her father—"

"I did not _whine_," she retorted. "In fact, I said nothing until my father saw these bruises"—she pulled up her sleeve to show him—"and asked me what happened. He asked if you beat me, Donal, and I saved your ass by telling him that you don't beat me; that we simply fight now and then. I didn't tell him that 'now' means always and that 'then' is right before. He wasn't very happy when I told him about your drinking and your little girlfriends either."

"You _bitch_. Do you know what you could do to me? My name—"

"Is scum already."

"Helped along by you! Do you think being married to you is easy? They all say, 'O'Flaherty's wife is the man in the household'; well, you don't object, do you?"

"I can't object to what I've never heard. I make something of these long days, Donal. I don't waste my time indulging my body."

"Well, you won't let me in!"

"I let you in more often than I should, I think!" She sighed as his fist clipped her ear. So it wouldn't be an easy night.

He grabbed her by the collar. "I do everything for you! Everything!" With every word she was shaken a bit harder. "And what do I get for it?"

"More than you deserve," she choked out, trying to bite. "I could kill you right now."

He laughed. "Not without breathing, you can't."

"Just watch me." She pulled away, not expecting to be freed; Donal pulled her back and in doing so ripped her dress. In a flash, she was out of it, leaving him blinking and staring at the garment that moments ago had held his wife. She armed herself with one of the knives from the table. "Try, Donal. Just you try to defend yourself when you can hardly walk in a straight line." She walked over to him and placed the knife a hair away from his throat. He shrunk against the wall. "Just…you…try…."

He squeaked.

Grania threw the knife aside. "Coward," she said derisively. "Now I'm going to bed; you can whimper there till you go to hell, if that's what you want." She picked up her dress, turned her back on him and left the dining hall.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **_**The Pirate Queen **_**is as much mine as it was appreciated by the critics.**

She would always remember the first time she had sailed: she had been about seven or eight, and fed up with watching her father come and go and leave her. She was tired of wandering around with little to do and nobody to talk to. And she could not stand staying where she was while her father sailed right off the edge of the world and came back with such strange objects and even more marvelous stories.

One day, after she had been pestering him about it nonstop, he had thrown up his hands in resignation and agreed to let her come with him on one short trip, just a little down the coast. "But you must listen to me no matter what, and not touch anything unless I tell you, and stay _far_ from the rail—the ocean has enough little fish."

By this point she would have agreed if he'd told her to paddle to England in a barrel, and so it was that a few days later it was an irritated crew that found itself in the company of an extremely curious young girl. There were very bitter murmurings for a time about going from pirates to babysitters, and one man wondered, not altogether quietly, if the captain had gone utterly crazy.

But Grania loved every minute of it. As time went on she managed to talk her father into letting her on longer and longer journeys—though he drew the line when it came to voyages too far at sea—and after a while the crew became accustomed to having her around and realized that they had a rather able apprentice.

It was only when she was thirteen and her body had definitely asserted itself as female that Dubhdara firmly banned her from the ships. "You've been able to wheedle your way on as a girl," he told her, "but there's no denying that you're a woman now, and you know the rule." Then, worst of all, he had _laughed_ as he remarked, "Though I suppose it's good you didn't start your bleeding on board, or there might have been a great argument as to whether or not to throw you right into the sea."

She had walked away from him then, tearful and furious and still dreadfully embarrassed. Fine, so she had been lucky she was on land when this had happened. But to never go to sea again! So it was that she had subsisted only on what Tiernan recounted to her, until she had finally had enough and snuck on board as a boy.

The rest, both to herself and to the world, was history.

Really history, now that this damned rock was the farthest she could go. British soldiers invading, and she left to tend the hearth! Not even bothering to make sure that nobody was within earshot, Grania threw back her head and howled her frustration out to nowhere. Her voice flew far out to sea, to the rocks, and carried back to her nothing but that same scream. She swore. Swore at Donal, at Rockfleet, at her father and herself and this whole damned life.

"Grania!" A woman came running up to her, gasping—Grania recognized her as the wife of one of Donal's friends. Sinéad, her name was. "Grania, there are British soldiers coming!"

"And the sky is blue, and my cursed husband a drunk. Is there anything else, Nora? Anything else that the basest fool could tell?"

Hurt showed in Nora's eyes, and Grania instantly felt guilty. This woman had done nothing. "Nora—"

"Grania, they are coming _here._" Nora was forging on. "They come for you; they wanted to lure the men away—"

"Where are they?" Grania interrupted.

"They are here!" Another woman. "Grania, what should we do?"

This was what she lived for: danger, being a leader. Grania thought. "Tell me, girls. How well can you be whores?"

* * *

It went off spectacularly: the British soldiers had no qualms about taking the welcoming Irish women, and the Irish women had no qualms about taking the soldiers' lives. Bingham only was left alive, at Grania's orders.

"You can go back," she told him tossing him his pants. "Tell your queen what happened, and take this as a warning."

Bingham had no sooner slunk off in humiliation than Donal and the other men returned. Seeing the women with their bloodstained knives, they stopped dead.

"What's happened here, woman?" Donal asked his wife.

"It was a trap, Donal." Oh, the delight of seeing his face as he grasped it! "They came for me. So, as I was left here all 'defenseless', I rallied the women and we chased those bastards away, which is more than I can say for you."

Donal blinked. "You what?"

"We defeated them, Donal." The other women nodded proudly, and looking about at them, and at all the dumbstruck men, for the first time since coming to Rockfleet she felt happy.

So of course it had to be just then that Tiernan skidded to a stop in front of her to tell her that her father was dying.


	5. Chapter 5

**If you know the musical, you know what happens.**

**Dubhdara makes Grania chieftain, and she continues to beat Donal at life. **

**Skip ahead about two years later to Act II: Eoin's birth.**

**Eoin is born; the British attack. I have finished the fight chapter, so I shall give it to you.**


	6. Chapter 6

"Grania, we've English soldiers on board, the men are outnumbered, your husband wants us to surrender—"

"_Surrender?"_

"Yes, I heard him—"

But Grania didn't need to hear any more—her ship was invaded; her child was in danger; her men could be dying and her bastard of a husband wanted them to submit like so many sheep. She sat up, swayed, pulled herself straight. "Majella, give me my sword," she commanded.

Majella moved in front of her. "No, Grania, you can't!" she cried, because she knew full well that Grania would. "You can't, you're too weak—" But unwittingly she had done exactly what she least wanted to do: nothing she could have said would have angered Grania more.

"I am not _weak_!" Grania spat at her. "I am not my husband, I am not a coward, and I am going up there to do my part." She handed the baby over to Majella before the woman could protest and swung around her out of the bed. She grabbed her sword and had to rest on it a moment, then stumbled through the doorway and up onto the deck. She emerged into the light and blinked for a moment, both at the sun and at the fighting men, and then, swearing at the situation in general, she rushed forward to join them.

The closest soldier had his back turned, so he had no idea that anybody was behind him as he raised his sword.

Grania's met it in midair.

The man spun around, ready to take on this new opponent, and his sword hovered in shock as he saw before him a woman. Nobody had told him that this was Grace O'Malley's ship, so he'd been unprepared. "You!" he shouted as he realized who she was.

"Me," she yelled back in agreement, "and this is _my_ Ireland that I'm fighting for!" She then saw to it that he didn't have very long to contemplate this, or anything else in general.

The exchange had taken less than a minute, but it was enough to turn the tide of the battle. Grania had come to join them, and so far as her crewmen were concerned the battle was won. So far as the English were concerned, Grace O'Malley had come up from wherever she'd been, bloody and a little disoriented but ready. Either Her Majesty would reward them greatly or they were defeated. Looking at the enthusiastic Irishmen in front of them, the answer seemed to be the latter.

Those few strokes seemed to take all her strength, though, and as she moved forward to join the rest of the fight everything seemed to be moving very slowly; lights were flashing before her eyes that were not those of sunlight glinting off swords. Her own sword suddenly weighed a thousand pounds, and when she swung it it moved slowly and randomly, as if being dragged through molasses. A stroke that should have taken off a head instead sliced through the shoulder muscle, and it was only with great luck that she managed to dispatch the man before he stabbed her.

He had apparently wounded her, though, Grania realized as pain registered and she felt blood flowing. Lightly, but a lot what with how she was feeling, and how much she'd already lost during the too-recent childbirth. She blinked, very hard, but the dizziness only got worse and she fell, gasping, to the deck. She tried several times to get up, but couldn't. She watched her men kill off as many of the English as they could before the whole lot had fled.

Tiernan saw her stagger, but he was in no position to get to her—nobody was—and it wasn't until the last soldier had been seen to that he was able to push his way through the crowd and run to Grania's side. "Grania!" he said loudly, pulling her up.

"I'm all right," she whispered.

"No you're not." He grabbed a cape torn from one of the soldiers and wrapped it around her—both for warmth and for modesty—and part-walked, part-dragged her to an overturned crate where she could sit down. He called for water. It was brought, and when Grania seemed a bit better he said, "What were you doing up here?"

Pale as she was, she could still stare at him in a way that made him feel an utter fool. "Majella told me that we were outnumbered. I came to help."

"But you—" and then he noticed the blood running off her arm. "Grania, you're wounded—"

"A scratch," she said. "Where is that husband of mine?"

Tiernan pointed to where Donal was sitting on another crate, down near the end of the ship. "He's over there."

"Thank you." Before he could stop her, Grania pulled herself up and, leaning on the rail for support, wavered to where Donal was. He didn't look up, even when she was standing right in front of him. "Get _up!_" she screamed at him. "For once in your life, would you be a _man_!"

Donal stared straight ahead, apparently not listening.

"Get _up_, I said!" Weak as she was, Grania was still able to drag him upright by the collar, and that seemed to awaken him.

He pulled away. "Get away from me, woman! What do you think you're doing?"

"What are _you_ doing? Our ship is under attack and you want to _surrender_? What the hell is the matter with you?"

"What's the matter!" he snapped. "The matter is with you—running around the sea in a man's clothes and swinging a man's sword—it's like I married a man!"

"I just bore your son," she reminded him. "A woman's job if anything ever was. And then saved your sorry hide from the British soldiers who would have torn you limb from limb just for being Irish—if indeed you are!"

"And what sort of act is that but a man's?" Donal shot back at her. "For the love of God be a woman, woman!"

"A woman, Donal? A woman is what you want? I've been that, and a man for both of us, but if you want a wife then I will be one." Their faces were barely inches apart. "As allowed to me as your wife, I dismiss you, Donal O'Flaherty!"

"You _wha—_"

"I dismiss you, I said!" Her voice was raised to its loudest, so that everybody could hear. "_I dismiss you_!"

He swallowed. "You can't do this," he almost whined, but only feebly: He knew that he was defeated; that Grania had every right to divorce him, particularly in light of the situation; that there was not a single man on board that would side with him.

She smiled. "I can and I have. According to the same Brehon law under which you and I were wed, I'm done with you. I have had enough of you and your lying and cowardice and unfaithfulness, and I am fecking _finished _with you." She turned to a man standing nearby. "Seamus, take this belowdecks and see to it that he stays in one place; if he dares move he'll be clapped in chains."

"Ridiculous!" Donal muttered. "Would your precious father have agreed to this?"

She fixed him with a steady gaze. "If you had been on Dubhdara's ship, Donal, you would have been thrown overboard long ago. Thank whatever you worship that I prefer other methods of punishment. I want you out of my sight. Now."

Donal shot her a baleful look and allowed himself to be led away.

As soon as he was out of sight, Grania sank down onto her crate. "Well, Tiernan," she said. "It's certainly been an eventful day, hasn't it?"


	7. Chapter 7

**So: Grania and Tiernan pledge their love; Donal shows up at Eoin's christening, along with the British. Grania is captured; Donal is killed; Tiernan rescues Eoin.**

**Grania is imprisoned for a time. Tiernan comes to replace her.**

**Grania returns home to find Ireland in shambles; as soon as possible she sets off for England for her famous meeting with Elizabeth.**

**All is accomplished: Tiernan is released; Elizabeth promises to give Ireland aid; the lovers return home.**

**Epilogue in next chapter.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **_**The Pirate Queen **_**is as much mine as it was appreciated by the critics.**

"We're going to a wedding" was all that Majella had told Eoin as an explanation for an extra-hard face scrubbing before she led him to the newly resplendent _Pirate Queen,_ whose deck was packed to capacity.

Even with the help from Elizabeth, Ireland was still doing poorly, so neither Tiernan nor Grania were dressed in anything resembling finery; in fact they were dressed as they would any other day, although somebody had found flowers to put in Grania's hair. Both were still scarred and gaunt from their stints in the English prison; both were beaming.

Evleen stepped up before them and began to recite the same words she had spoken ten years ago, at a very different wedding. Eoin and Majella were so far back that they could hardly make out the words, even though everyone was silent. She managed to lift him up, though, in time for him to see Grania and Tiernan stand up and kiss. As soon as that was finished Grania stood on her toes to look across the ship.

"Eoin!" she said through all the noise. "Where's my boy?"

"Wait a moment," Majella started to say, but Eoin had already broken away from her and was weaving through the crowds to reach his mother.

"Mother! Mother!" he called as he neared her, and she turned away from the O'Lee chieftain, who had been congratulating her.

"Eoin!" She swooped him up into her arms. "What were you doing all the way in the back?"

"The ship was full; we couldn't get through. But I could see. You married Tiernan, didn't you? He's _really_ my father now?"

"Yes, she did, and yes, I happily am," Tiernan said. "Congratulations, my son."

"So does that mean I can have a brother?" Eoin asked hopefully.

"I do hope so," Grania said, "although you may end up with some sisters too."

"We'll get started on that as soon as possible, won't we, Grania?" Tiernan broke in with a distinctly wicked smile.

She kicked him.

"Fine start to a marriage," he complained.

"Well, watch your mouth."

Eoin couldn't keep from laughing.

"Aye, keep laughing," Grania told him. "Just don't take too many lessons from this man." She looked past him to the shore. "Oh, look," she told Tiernan. "They're dancing without us. Probably better for them, though. I was never much of a dancer."

"So what are you, Grania Mhaol?"

"I am a chieftain, and a sea captain, and a mother, and, most wonderful out of all these lovely new developments, I am now a wife." She smiled and took Eoin's hand in her left, and Tiernan's in her right. "Now let us get down there with everybody else; I believe we have a wedding feast to attend!"

THE END


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